


Glad to Be With You

by insufficientemotionalfunds



Series: Hello, Hope You're Listening [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, Starts off serious enough and then just spirals out of control, and a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insufficientemotionalfunds/pseuds/insufficientemotionalfunds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean and Cas finally get around to that date Dean mentioned and everything changes... but not really.<br/>Or... the one where Team Free Will watches Lord of the Rings.</p><p>(The sequel to Hello, Hope You're Listening)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad to Be With You

**Author's Note:**

> While probably not completely necessary, I would read the other fic first, if you haven't already. This one mentions (even if vaguely) a lot of stuff that goes down in it.
> 
> Also, I would just like to point out:  
> I decided this was going to be the follow-up long before Dean quoted LotR in Goodbye Stranger. There're threads in the comment section that prove it. :D

“Um. Did we order a pizza or somethin’?”

The kitchen went still in confusion, the only movement the last lingering drop of brewed coffee splashing into the pot as Sam matched his brother’s arched brow across the table. They sat in tense silence for a moment, listening for a repeat of the unprecedented bang at the bunker door.

Dean was out of his chair and halfway toward the doorway, demon-killing knife in hand, before the echoes of the second knock had died away. Sam followed quickly behind, veering off as they passed the vault to retrieve the Colt.

It had been a week since the incident at Lucifer’s abandoned crypt— seven days since they’d learned of Heaven’s ulterior motives and watched one of their few remaining allies—in the loosest sense of the term—die bloody on the point of Crowley’s sword… seven days since _Dean_ had nearly died without a fight at the hand of his best friend. Everything had been quiet since, almost like the supernatural world was holding its breath in the aftermath of the tablet’s awakening… waiting for the hammer to fall.

Dean paused at the door, hand hovering above the latch, and glanced over his shoulder at Sam as the younger hunter did a quick visual check of salt lines and wardings. Sam took a steadying breath, finger smoothing over the Colt’s trigger as he subtly shifted the gun into hiding behind his thigh and nodded at Dean, who flipped the knife around in his hand to line the blade up with the inside of his arm, out of sight, before dragging the door open.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—an army of demons, maybe, or even some poor sap who’d gotten a flat and happened to catch sight of the Impala parked at the end of the road—but it certainly wasn’t—

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean froze, staring in shock as the words, achingly familiar but spoken so tentatively, slammed into him with all the weight of a physical blow. And he was horribly familiar with that feeling, especially in regard to Castiel.

The angel on their doorstep was… _fidgeting,_ absently rubbing the hem of his coat between thumb and forefinger as his gaze darted over Dean, taking in every spare inch of skin, freckle, and flannel while meticulously avoiding his eyes.

Dean drew a deep, shuddering breath, his heart in his throat as he took one uncertain step forward. “Ca—?” He was dragged violently backward through the door before the disbelieving whisper of the angel’s name could even finish passing his lips, knife clattering noisily to the floor.

Sam crowded around him in a tangle of limbs, bodily shoving Dean back and placing himself firmly in the doorway between his brother and the angel. Squaring his shoulders, he raised the Colt in both hands, forcibly brushed off the twinge of pain in his chest from pointing a weapon at his friend, and met Castiel’s eyes down the barrel.

“Sam, no!” Dean yelled, voice hitching around something quickly closing in on panic—shit, that was the _Colt,_ Sam was pointing the fuckin’ _Colt_ at _Cas—_ as he grabbed for the other man’s forearm. “Dude, what the fuck—!?”

“Are you _you!?”_ Sam snarled, jabbing the gun emphatically at the angel as he shook off Dean’s hold.

“Sam….” Castiel started weakly, plaintively.

“No!” Sam knocked Dean away from him with a jerk of his shoulder. “I don’t want to hear a thing from you that I don’t prompt, clear? Now tell me— which Cas are you, today? And I swear to _God_ if you even _look_ at Dean wrong, I will shoot you between the eyes.”

“I—” Castiel broke off, averting his gaze, and the surge of emotion washing across his face was terrifying in its human intensity. “I believe… that I’m _‘me.’”_

Dean swallowed painfully at the uncertainty in his voice.

“And how do we _know?”_ Sam growled, beating down the kneejerk reaction to believe him— believe that this was _Cas…_ but no. He couldn’t take that chance— not this time… not when it was _Dean_ on the line.

“Damnit, Sammy.” Dean sighed in exasperation, terror draining out of his system as he caught sight of Sam’s finger trembling over the trigger— he wouldn’t pull it. Sam couldn’t kill Cas any more than Dean could bring himself to fight him. He shoved forward just enough to force Sam to make way and joined him in the doorway, standing shoulder to shoulder. “I told you, he broke whatever hold those assholes had—”

“Oh, _sorry_ —” Sam shook his head firmly, pursing his lips in determination as he adjusted the Colt’s wavering barrel. “I must’ve stopped listening after the _‘he tried to kill you’_ part.”

“Yeah,” Dean snapped back, “In _zombie mode_. And oh, by the way, _you’ve_ had quite a few goes at me, yourself, but I don’t shove a gun down _your_ throat every time I see you, do I?”

Sam mouthed wordlessly for a second, eyes darting from Dean’s irritated face to Castiel’s half-outstretched and pleading hand. He grunted, glaring at the angel suspiciously as he slowly lowered the gun a few degrees.

 _“Cas,”_ Dean began again, and blue eyes flashed to his face and quickly back to Sam, “No… hey, man. Look at me.”

He did. The overwhelming guilt etched into every line of Castiel’s face and the near desperate way he seemed to drink Dean in sent a pang through his chest.

Dean licked his lips, clearing his throat as he searched for any sign that the Castiel before them wasn’t _Cas…_ wasn’t _his._

“Thought you were on tablet duty?” he asked slowly when the silence got to be too heavy.

“I am.” Castiel clenched his fist uncomfortably.

“Yeah, so where is it, then?” Dean eyed Castiel up and down speculatively. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t really put it past the dude to have mojo’d that coat into some sort of bag of holding or something. “Thought I’d lost visitation rights,” he finished bitterly.

Beside him, Sam shifted awkwardly, glancing between them as the lingering fury drained slowly out of him.

Castiel flinched, stung, and ducked his head. “I… I’ve hidden it and placed a warding spell around it that will be completely impenetrable for twenty-four hours. Even I won’t be able to get near it for the duration.” He cleared his throat, glancing uncertainly back up at Dean.

It damn-well _hurt_ to see Castiel acting so timid— was practically a throwback to the horrible wannabe Cas that they’d met in the mental hospital. _Shit,_ did Cas know about Meg?

Dean grunted, rubbing at his jaw tiredly. “Why?”

“I—” He glanced from Dean to Sam and back again. “I was hoping that… my invitation was still open.” He met Dean’s gaze and the hunter felt the coil of tension behind his sternum unravel at the desperate desire shining there. “Though,” Castiel continued, a hint of resignation dulling his eyes just enough to retie the knot in Dean’s chest, “I would understand completely, if not.” He bowed his head.

Dean swallowed back the urge to yank the stupid fucker into his arms and scream long and loud right into his ear about just exactly _what_ ‘I need you’ meant and how it didn’t—wouldn’t… _couldn’t_ —change for anything. “So, you really did hear me, then?” he asked instead, once more taking a tentative step forward when Sam made no move to stop him.

“I told you I did,” Castiel muttered to the concrete.

A quick glance at Sam showed that the protective rage had finally snuffed itself out entirely and he was watching Castiel with the same sad understanding he'd been exuding since the angel’s no-longer-mysterious escape from Purgatory.

Feeling heartened now that his brother wasn’t going to plug Cas on the doorstep for so much as twitching, Dean licked his lips and asked as casually as he could, _“All_ of them?” He leaned against the doorframe with forced nonchalance, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Something like hope flashed in Castiel’s eyes and instead of answering, he silently proffered the plastic bag stamped with the red Target logo that Dean hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding.

He shared a small, confused look with Sam before hesitantly reaching out.

“There were two,” Castiel said hastily, sounding almost self-conscious, as Dean opened it and glanced inside, “I wasn’t sure which one you were referring to.”

Dean felt like he’d downed an entire bottle of Jameson in one go— warmth settled low in his belly and spread slowly to every extremity even as he started worrying that maybe he was about to lose his balance from shock at how downright… _surreal_ all of this was. He nudged aside the pack of microwave popcorn and picked up the boxed set of the extended edition _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. Rubbing his thumb over the embossed title almost reverently, he glanced back down and grinned in amusement at the DVD of the ridiculous ’78 cartoon version.

He chuckled, fumbling that one out of the bag and passing it over to Sam with a shit-eating grin. His brother furrowed his brow in confusion, but took it anyway. “Remember how you could never get past Gollum ‘cause he gave you nightmares?”

The confusion slid seamlessly into a Sammy bitchface and he sneered. “Remember how you almost shot Dad with a salt-round ‘cause you thought he was a Ringwraith?”

Dean scowled, snatching the case back and dropping it into the bag. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

He huffed, turning back to Castiel, who was watching them with a familiar expression of affectionate uncertainty. “Well, get in here, Feathers,” he grunted, stepping aside and gesturing grandly, “We got a lotta movie to watch and we’re burnin’ daylight— not to mention you need the grand tour.”

Castiel’s face went slack, his relief practically rolling off of him in waves as he stepped eagerly forward. He came even with Dean, turning his head to maintain eye contact, and very suddenly stopped short.

“Oh, shit,” Sam exclaimed, fumbling the Colt into the back of his jeans, “Hold up—” He disappeared down into the war room with a clatter. “One second, Cas!” he shouted from somewhere out of sight.

Dean glanced questioningly at his friend, giving him a confused once-over. “What’s up?”

“Angel-warding,” Castiel sighed, shoulders drooping.

“Oh. Right.” Dean winced, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Forgot about that.”

“Me, too,” Castiel mumbled, “I actually tried to come directly to your side, at first, but was repelled. I’m—” He cleared his throat. “I’m a little thankful I was unable to, now. I’m sure Sam would’ve been even more unhappy at the surprise.”

Dean’s face twisted incredulously before he shook his head. “And here’s me thinkin’ you were actually trying to be polite with the knocking.” He barked a laugh at Castiel’s disgruntled expression and reached for him without thinking, dragging him into the hug he’d been holding back for far too long. “Glad you’re back, Cas,” he muttered into a mess of dark hair. _Missed you._

“Me, too,” Castiel replied, muffled. His arms wove smoothly around the hunter’s waist, hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt.

Dean smoothed his thumb softly over the skin at the nape of his neck, absently rocking them from side to side as all of the pain and worry and fear of the last few months seeped slowly out of him from every point where he was pressed against the angel. Castiel, in turn, let out a long, shaky breath, allowing himself to melt into Dean and pressing as close as he could physically get to the blinding light of the soul housed within.

“Dean,” he whispered, and Dean shuddered as the angel’s lips sparked tingles of sensation against his throat, “I—”

“Okay!” Sam called, accompanied by the clatter of his feet on the stairs, “We’re all set.” His face appeared over the landing just as Dean reluctantly disentangled himself and took a step back. “Come on in, Cas.” He grinned welcomingly, and Dean couldn’t really bring himself to be irritated at the idiot and his less-than-awesome timing.

He rolled his eyes anyway and shrugged at Castiel before scooping up the fallen knife and plucking at the sleeve of the angel's trench coat, turning to lead the way down into the bunker.

 

* * *

 

Dean wedged a few beers in between the couch cushions and handed off the large bowl of popcorn to Castiel before turning to wrestle open the case of DVDs.

He’d foregone the extended tour for now, as Castiel had seemed content enough with just being allowed entrance and maybe—just _maybe_ , if things went anywhere approaching okay—the angel’d be bunking with them— _him?—_ for the night before heading back to his self-imposed duty... and would get more than a quick glance around later on. Because Castiel had heard his prayers… every single one of them—even the ones he wasn’t very proud of—and knew _exactly_ what his so-called ‘invitation’ entailed.

And he’d come to take Dean up on it.

Cas knew the score. Dean knew, too. They were finally— _finally—_ on the same page. So, this was it. No more running.

Dean took a deep, steadying breath with his back turned to Castiel, and plopped the first disc of _Fellowship_ into the tray of the DVD player he wouldn’t admit he’d bought with this very possibility in mind.

Clearing his jumbled thoughts with a shake of his head, he turned to grin at the angel where he sat, looking practically naked in plain button-up and socked-feet, perched at the very edge of the couch and examining a single piece of popcorn with a suspicious, critical eye. He snorted in amusement. “It’s completely harmless after it’s out of the larval stage, dude,” he joked, stepping over to collapse at Castiel’s side, jostling him as he sprawled out.

Castiel side-eyed him sardonically. “I’m aware,” he drawled, “I just find human ingenuity fascinating. I’m curious as to who first looked at a kernel of corn and thought it might be improved by the application of fire.”

“Hey. Fire _good,”_ Dean grunted, reaching lazily for a beer as the menu screen arrived in a swell of music on the television. He quirked the bottle in a toast toward the bowl before taking a swig. “Just ask Prometheus.”

The angel narrowed his eyes in confusion at the unexpectedly heavy tone, but didn’t speak on it as Sam bustled into the room.

“Sweet,” the younger man said enthusiastically, falling in an explosion of too-long limbs into the seat on Dean’s other side, “Start it up!”

Dean mouthed at him wordlessly, eyebrows shooting up when Sam stretched across him to grab a handful of popcorn from Castiel’s bowl. “Dude,” he said slowly, “What’re you doing?”

“Uh—” Sam had the gall to look at Dean like _he_ was the crazy one. “Watching one of my favorite movies with my brother and an angel?”

 _Seriously?_ Dean pursed his lips, widening his eyes at Sam and glancing in Castiel’s direction emphatically. “Thought you had a _hot date_ with the _library_ today?” he asked pointedly.

Sam waved him off. “Everything’s been quiet, right? It can wait a day— we should celebrate Cas being back,” he said through a mouthful of popcorn.

 _Oh, come **on**._ Dean thumped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes in frustration. There was no way Sam was that dense— he _knew_ Sam wasn’t that dense. He listened to the younger hunter fumble around with the remote he’d set on the floor, followed by the soft, haunting choral soundtrack which accompanied the movie’s intro, and cursed little brothers and their natural little brother instincts.

He wallowed in his irritation for a long moment until the cushion on his other side dipped and a warm thigh pressed gently against his own. Peeking one eye open, he glanced over to where Castiel was offering him the monstrous bowl of buttery, salty goodness with what might have been a small, commiserating smile. Dean shook his head with an amused huff and reached for the popcorn.

Cas was back—even if just for a while—Sammy was safe and well enough to be an annoying little shit, and they were all together.

Everything else was just semantics.

 

* * *

 

Semantics could _suck it._

Gandalf had just dueled his way into a long fall, Frodo was slow-mo screaming his grief very dramatically, Sam was loudly analyzing the shit out of the themes of sacrifice and friendship... Cas was making these breathy little hitching noises and staring at the screen like it had slaughtered a kitten— and Dean couldn’t even drape an arm over his shoulders to comfort him because the last time he’d tried the yawn-and-stretch Sam had given him this smug little half-smirk that had laid all of his horrible and more-than-a-bit blasphemous innermost desires bare in glorious Technicolor.

He drained the last bit of his third beer and nudged Castiel’s knee with his own. “Hey,” he said quietly when glassy blue eyes turned away from the sob fest playing out on the TV, “You okay?”

The angel swallowed thickly. “I didn’t expect to empathize with fictional characters this way,” he murmured back, eyes darting toward the screen, “But Gandalf reminds me of—”

“Bobby, yeah. I get it.” Dean licked his lips as Castiel nodded slowly, debating the chances of Sam noticing if he maybe gave the angel’s thigh a gentle squeeze or—fuck it—held his hand or something. _He_ hadn’t expected the movie to touch Castiel on such an emotional level, either… dude had never really been one to get sucked into a story— though, come to think of it, he’d never really had the chance.

He gnawed his lip thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to lighten the mood. “Well, if Bobby’s Gandalf… I guess that’d make me—”

“Frodo,” Sam drawled from his other side, grinning like the bitchy thirteen-year-old he’d somehow reverted into, “with your big soulful eyes and single manly tears of angst.”

“’Scuse you,” Dean growled, “But _you’ve_ already been cast in the role of the whiney bitch who falls a lot and needs to be carried everywhere.” Sam scowled and Dean grinned victoriously. “So _clearly_ I would be—”

“Aragorn,” Castiel interrupted determinedly, “It's strangely apt. You are both the reluctant hero, obsessed with the past failures of yourself and your family and fighting for redemption. You are natural leaders and inspire unwavering loyalty in most everyone you touch.” Dean gaped at him, felt Sam shift to do the same as he continued obliviously on. “You are kind and selfless and hide yourself away under a mask you think will turn people away from the light shining within. You throw yourself into each task given to you without holding back and you abhor your humanity as a weakness, even though it is the thing that makes you truly beautiful.”

The room fell silent except for Sam—the hobbit, not the giant—who was busy waxing poetic about Gandalf’s fireworks.

After a moment, Dean coughed, feeling the flush creeping across his cheeks and up to his ears. “Uh, thanks, Cas… I guess. I was just gonna say ‘cause he’s a badass.”

Sam—the giant, not the hobbit—choked on his beer, laughing himself stupid at the incredulous tilt of the angel’s head. “Who—” He gasped for breath a moment later, wiping at his eyes in hysterics. “Who would you be, Cas?”

Castiel furrowed his brow in thought for a second before saying, slowly, “Legolas.”

Sam did a truly glorious spit take and doubled over, choking on his beer for the second time in as many minutes and Dean had to pound on his back with the empty popcorn bowl.

“Why is that so funny?” Castiel asked uncertainly as Dean gave up and just balanced the dish on Sam’s bowed head instead.

He shrugged, ignoring his idiot brother when he mumbled something about subtext and camera angles and weddings to the floor.

 

* * *

 

Sam had to go.

Seriously, Dean had forgotten how frustrating it was to watch a movie with him when he _wouldn’t_ _shut up_ about story arcs and character development. Even Cas seemed a little disgruntled, but was either too polite or too wary of their fragile peace to say anything.

He glanced from one to the other as Castiel listened absently to Sam’s running commentary on the Hero’s Journey while watching the two hobbits start their perilous trek into Mordor.

The credits rolled and Dean gritted his teeth determinedly, slapping his hands down onto his thighs and pushing to his feet. “Welp, I need a piss before the next one.” He grunted as he stretched. “Take five, team.”

Leaving Castiel to awkwardly huddle into the couch as Sam bustled around collecting empty bottles, Dean headed for the bathroom and fished his phone out of his pocket.

He slumped against the wall as he scrolled through the contacts until he found his— _hopefully_ , for fuck’s sake, _please_ —savior.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_I require your skills as a wingman._

_Sent: 01:32 PM_

He didn’t have to wait long, eyeing the ring of scum marring the bathtub and making a mental note to supply Sam with some Scrubbing Bubbles later, before the cell buzzed in his hand.

 

_From: **Charlie**_

_O rly? You have my sword. Tell me more._

_01:34 PM_

He snorted, shaking his head fondly at the bizarrely spot-on nerdiness.

_To: **Charlie**_

_Does ‘your sword’ have a sasquatch setting?_

_Sent: 01:34 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_LOL, Sammy’s cockblocking you?_

_01:35 PM_

Dean rolled his eyes.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_Shut up and help me, wench._

_Sent: 01:35 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Touchy, touchy. Where are you guys?_

_01:35 PM_

_To: **Charlie**_

_At home. We’re trying to watch LotR._

_Sent: 01:36 PM_

It took a suspiciously long moment for her to reply, and when she did, Dean was reminded rather strongly of Becky— before she went batshit and fuckin’ ruffied his brother, anyway.

_From: **Charlie**_

_Wait, seriously?_

_01: 38 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Oh em gee, so cute._

_01:38 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Best date ever!_

_01:38 PM_

He frowned.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_It won’t be a date at all if you don’t get Sam out of our hair!_

_Sent: 01:38 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Don’t worry your pretty head, I’m on it._

_01:39 PM_

He could practically _feel_ her patting said pretty head condescendingly.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_Bitch, please. I’m rugged and manly._

_Sent: 01:39 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Sure, bb._

_01:39 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Tell your boy if he breaks your heart, I’ll stab him in the mouth Eowyn-style._

_01:39 PM_

Dean stared at the screen for a long moment, tracing the pixelated lines of _boy_ over and over. The hell? Maybe he hadn’t exactly been Mr. Macho with the dress up and the handmaiden-ing… but he certainly didn’t think he’d given her any reason to make _that_ leap.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_Who said anything about a boy?_

_Sent: 01:41 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Huh?_

_01:42 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_Boy? What boy?_

_01:42 PM_

_From: **Charlie**_

_G2G, Samsquatch awaits!_

_01:42 PM_

“Son of a bitch,” he growled, gaping at his phone in disbelief as the display dimmed. “What the hell?”

 

* * *

 

“We thought you’d fallen in,” Sam quipped when he strolled back in with a new round of beers, “Cas was ready to send out a search party.”

The angel’s lips pursed, but he made no argument as he watched Dean round the couch and settle between them.

“Eh,” Dean said with a shrug, “Sometimes a man's gotta—”

Sam’s phone cut him off, its muffled ringing getting progressively louder as he dug it out of his pocket and frowned in confusion at the screen. He answered it warily, glancing at Dean as he asked, “Charlie?”

Dean endeavored to look surprised, slouching back into the cushion as Sam listened with a frown that gradually transformed into his research-mode face.

“No, that doesn’t sound like— do you need us to come down there?”

The couch shifted as Castiel leaned around Dean to watch Sam’s side of the conversation as well.

“Oh, well…. Yeah, I’m sure I could find it… our library’s pretty— sure. Yeah. Yeah. No problem. I’ll give you a call tonight, okay?”

“What’s up?” Dean asked with what he felt was an admirable amount of concern and absolutely no triumphant cackling.

Sam slid the phone into his pocket as he got to his feet, running one hand back through his hair. “Charlie thinks one of her knights might be using real magic to enchant his... lance. Not even a pun.” He pulled an incredulous face. “She didn’t really give me much to go on, but she asked me to look into some spells.”

“Lame.” Dean scoffed. “Friggin’ LARPers.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam sighed, glancing sadly at the TV where the _Two Towers_ menu was playing unobtrusively.

Dean bit down on the smirk trying to spread over his face, shifting slightly against the need to pump his fist victoriously in the air.

“Would you like help?”

_What? **No**._

Castiel slid to the edge of the couch, ready to stand, his face nothing but earnest as he looked up at Sam.

_Damnit, Cas! Abort!_

But Sammy always had managed to come through for him at the most unexpected of times. He waved at Castiel dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He gestured at the television. “It’s probably nothing. You two watch the movie. I’ve seen it a million times, anyway.”

Castiel sat back, nodding, and Dean slumped gratefully.

“Hey!” he called after Sam as he headed for the library, figuring the kid needed a reward for being a decent brother when it really counted, “I’m makin’ burgers later— want one?”

“Duh!” Sam’s voice echoed back.

Dean chuckled, turning back to Castiel. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me, angelcakes.” He winked playfully.

The angel arched a brow at his giddy grin, but any reply he had was once again interrupted by the sound of a cellphone buzzing.

Dean pulled it out, hitting the button to open Charlie’s text.

 

_From: **Charlie**_

_SooooOOOOO??_

_01:48 PM_

He smirked.

 

_To: **Charlie**_

_Mission accomplished. Thanks, wingwoman._

_Sent: 01:48 PM_

“You planned that,” Castiel accused lightly as Dean tucked the phone back into his pocket.

He shrugged, slinging one arm across the back of the couch behind the angel and grabbing the remote with the other hand. “So what if I did?”

Castiel made no reply, but his lips twitched in obvious amusement as he settled back to watch the second movie begin, pressing far enough into the cushion to tip Dean’s arm over onto his shoulders instead.

Dean smiled at the TV and brushed his fingers lightly across the fabric of his sleeve.

 

* * *

 

“Dean.”

Dean paused in the motion of getting up, glancing at Castiel in the light flickering from the screen as the credits rolled. “What’s up?” The angel pursed his lips, averting his gaze in a sudden show of uncertainty. “Cas?”

“I just want to say… Dean… thank you. For not giving up on me.”

Dean felt his heart stutter and he swallowed heavily. “No worries, dude. I mean—”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Please, listen. I know it may make you uncomfortable, but I need to say this, and if I don’t do it now… I think I never will. I need you to understand.” He glanced up at Dean with raw desperation reflected in his eyes, even while the rest of his face remained neutral, and the hunter sat back down, turning toward him and leaning in attentively. Castiel took a deep breath. “Dean, when everything went wrong, before— or… was in the process of going wrong… your prayers… they— they saved me.” Dean felt his mouth go dry, felt a tentative hand reaching out to brush its fingers softly across his own. “I think they kept me sane… long after I would have given in, were I alone. I can never adequately thank you for that— and Dean, I have… no _right_ — not when I—” The words broke and died away, and Dean’s heart nearly stopped at the glint of moisture in Castiel’s eyes. “The… the things I _did._ The things she made me do, Dean. I can never— _will_ never forgi—”

 _“Hey.”_ Dean twisted his hand around so that their palms met, wrapping warm, anchoring fingers around Castiel’s wrist. “Whatever happened… whatever this Naomi bitch Borg’d you into doing… it wasn’t _you,_ okay?”

Castiel shook his head. “You don't know—”

"Don't need to."

"But…." Castiel grunted in frustration. "It _was_ me. It was by _my_ hands—”

 _“Cas._ I forgive you.” Dean pressed forward when he went still, reaching his free hand out to tentatively nudge at his chin. “Look at me. Is that what you need? Is that what you need to hear?” He cupped Castiel’s jaw firmly, soothing his thumb across the stubbled cheek in a mirror of Castiel’s healing touch in the crypt a week before. Castiel’s breath stuttered, his eyes widening. “Cas. You’re _forgiven_ , okay?”

Castiel stared at him silently, shadows flickering over their faces as the credits continued to roll. Finally, he clenched his eyes shut, leaning almost desperately into Dean’s hand. “ _Why?”_ he asked, voice sounding completely wrecked, “Why, after what I did—?”

Dean pressed his thumb firmly into his bottom lip, cutting him off. “I thought you said you heard me.”

Castiel frowned, confused. “I—”

Dean sighed. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but—” He swallowed. “I prayed… right before me ‘n’ Sammy were gonna summon Zeus?”

“Dean….” Castiel’s face went slack, realization flashing in his eyes.

“Remember?” Dean pressed on. “Now, maybe I didn’t get out everything I wanted to say… but I’m pretty sure the message got across.” He leaned in, so close that the wispy ends of Castiel’s hair brushed through his own. “Did it?”

Castiel met his gaze evenly, delved deep down into the soul that he’d gripped tight and never quite let go of, and slowly released a shaky breath. “I—” With a quiet sound of wonder, he pressed his forehead to Dean’s and closed his eyes reverently. “Yes, I think so.”

Dean smiled, using the hand still splayed across the angel’s cheek to guide him into a better position. “Good,” he breathed over his lips and then followed it in for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

Dean peeled his eyes back open with a herculean effort, blinking tiredly. Who knew a whole lotta sitting around doing nothing could be so _exhausting?_

He yawned, struggling to tune back into the movie— but there were warm fingers trailing gently through his hair and a firm, but strangely comfortable, thigh pillowing his cheek and he was finding it difficult to care about the courage of men failing and what day it may or may not take place on.

“Hey,” he protested lazily when the beer wedged between the couch cushions by his waist slid up and over his hip and away, “’s mine.”

“You’re not drinking it,” Castiel replied matter-of-factly, and Dean glared up at him out of the corner of his eye as he took a long, slow pull, finishing off the bottle.

Dean blinked, distractedly watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “D’you even like beer?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

Castiel shrugged, stretching to set the empty bottle down with the rest that had been gathering by the side of the couch without jostling Dean from his lap. “Not particularly. But you like it and I like you, so—” He shrugged, and it was such a strangely human thought… such a human _action…_ that Dean felt a curl of affection twining in his stomach.

A slow smile eased itself across the hunter’s face and he twisted around onto his back, ignoring Castiel’s grunt when he accidentally elbowed him in the gut, and heaved himself up. “I like you, too,” he muttered, eight and a half beers buzzing happily away right under his skin as he pressed a warm kiss to the underside of the angel’s jaw. “Matter o’ fact, I kinda love you.” He trailed his lips lightly up across the stubble gracing Castiel’s chin. “Like, a lot.”

He felt the stretch of skin as a tiny smile took over Castiel’s lips, before warm hands were cupping his face and gently pressing it down far enough for sparkling blue eyes to search out his own. Castiel stared at him for a long moment, thumbs absently tracing the curves of his cheeks.

“And I love you.” He kissed Dean’s brow before laying his own forehead over it. “I’m glad to be here with you, Dean Winchester,” he whispered. _Even if it's just for tonight._

Dean chuckled, internalizing his disbelieving eye-roll so he couldn’t ruin how disgustingly cheesy the moment was by calling it out. “Shit, I think maybe _we’re_ Frodo and Sam,” he muttered, tilting his head up for a proper kiss.

Castiel hummed a questioning sound.

“You’ll see in a few minutes,” Dean mumbled and lazily sucked the angel’s bottom lip into his mouth.

He did. Though they ended up having to rewind the ending, as it turns out— _twice,_ because Sam barreled in in the middle of the second run, yowling for his burger, and nearly cracked his skull open tripping over the collection of beer bottles in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Here ya go, guys.  
> Consider it an apology for being such a dick right before the episode that smashed all our poor fangirl hearts to pieces.
> 
> More drabbles 'n' stuff on [my tumblr](http://insufficientemotionalfunds.tumblr.com)


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